Finch pushed back his hat. "Naw, we got this. C'mon, Buford. Show 'em your stuff."
Buford, his gray skin dry and sun-bleached, shambled out. He wore a ten-gallon hat atop the shreds of scalp on his skull.
Finch clapped his hands. "What does a donkey do, Buford?"
"And how do you steer a horse?"
Finch turned to the others with a wide grin. "Somethin' else, ain't he?"
Tucker and Will glanced at each other. Tucker spat. "Still thicker'n a shit sandwich."
Finch frowned. "Hey, Buford. What is it these two ain't got more'n a teaspoonful of between 'em?"